


All That Remains is Ashes and Snow

by theonsfavouritetoy



Series: A Song of Our Own (Until Springtime) [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: ASOIAF Rare Pair Week, M/M, Post GOT, So many characters are dead, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-24
Updated: 2019-02-24
Packaged: 2019-11-01 19:16:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17873216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theonsfavouritetoy/pseuds/theonsfavouritetoy
Summary: The silence is eerie after all the noise. A thick mist has settled, hiding the remains from view, the heaps of corpses, some long dead, some just fallen. They’re all gone. They’re all gone and he’s still here.





	All That Remains is Ashes and Snow

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all!
> 
> It's ASOIAF rarepair week again and I'm excited to partake (yes, I'm still on a mission to raise Theon/Jon out of rarepair status)
> 
> Mad as I am I have decided to write a very small ficlet for each of the prompts - they are all connected into one bigger story though (hence the series) We're post Battle-of-Winterfell (I'm sure it's not going to be like that at all, just a random headcanon) and there's not many people left alive (I'm sorryyyyy)
> 
> Prompt 1 for today: Ashes // Snowflakes

The silence is eerie after all the noise. A thick mist has settled, hiding the remains from view, the heaps of corpses, some long dead, some just fallen. They’re all gone. They’re all gone and he’s still here.

He stares into the white nothing, concentrated, desperate. This cannot be how it all ends, just corpses and silence and nothing left but him and a world without wolves. All but one.

Her hand on his arm, trying to get him to back away from the field of death and into the ruins they both once called home, saying words he refuses to take in, refuses to take as truth. It cannot be the end.

“He’s out there somewhere.”

He doesn’t recognize his own voice, raw from screaming and thick with the smoke and the ashes still clouding the air. Maybe it isn’t mist after all. Maybe it’s just the last remnants of the beasts that are now gone again too. No wolves, no dragons. Except one.

“We have to find him.”

She shakes her head, face streaked with dirt and tears, ashes making her hair seem grey instead of red. She’s still tugging at his arm, she wants him to come with her, she doesn’t believe he’s still out there. But he is.

“We saw him fall. We heard him scream - he’s dead.” She sobs. “There’s nothing we can do. Come inside, I beg you! You’ll freeze to death.”

He shakes his head, rips his arm from her grasp, gaze fixed, unwavering, on the field. He’s there somewhere and he’ll find him. He has to. They need to bury him, burn him, do something. They cannot let him lie out there, a feast for the crows.

Ignoring her cries he stumbles away, further into the thick swirls, eyes searching the ground, taking in every body the mist reveals. Some faces he knows, others he doesn't. He grieves for them all, but not now, not until he’s found his king.

A man in Greyjoy armour lies in his way and he steps over it, mumbling apologies under his breath. He’s lead them to their death. And they were following. Him, not Yara, not their Queen but her brother, what’s left of him. And now they’re all dead.

So far from the sea.

Tears obstruct his sight for a moment, he stops to wipe them away but they have already frozen on his face. It’s still so cold, the creature is gone and has left Winter behind. Will there ever be spring again? He doubts it.

All that’s before them is death. All that surrounds him is death, but he still stumbles on, he has to, he has to search until he finds him and sees for himself that his king is no more.

Another familiar face, more red hair dulled to grey. Eyes staring into nothing. He bends down to close the man’s eyes, it’s a senseless gesture, the wildling won’t mind one way or another. He does it anyway.

On and on he goes, turning around bodies who have the right size, the right hair, the right armour. Starks, Greyjoys, Lannisters, Wildlings, Crows, an uncountable mass of death and loss. Spring, life… it can never find them among so much death.

His legs are stiff, he cannot feel his hands anymore. His face is numb, no more tears, he’s used them all up. Maybe he’ll never cry again. Maybe he’ll just lie down here with all of them, join them, let it all end.

He shakes his head, biting down on a cracked lip with broken teeth. There’s no pain left but one. The moment it had all ended, the moment he’d seen them locked in each other’s sword, ice and more ice, and a fiery blade.

He’s seen him fall.

But still he goes on, tumbling over blades and frozen corpses, tattered and rotten, blue eyes closed forever, now that their creator has shattered into a thousand pieces, cut down by Valyrian steel.

He’s near giving up, exhausted, hopeless, when he finds him. A heap of tangled limbs, a heavy fur, hair loose and tumbling around his face, hiding it from view. He crouches down next to him, biting back a dry sob. She’s been right. He’s gone.

And he doesn’t have enough strength to bring him back. Not now that he sees, not now that he has to believe that all is lost, that the light has vanished from the world. Shaking, he peels off his glove, not minding the cold that bites into what remains of his fingers.

A last touch, a last time he feels that soft skin under his fingertips. He strokes back a curl of ash grey hair. Ice cold. Colder than death. The end of all hope, the end of everything that still was good.

He bends down in a horrible parody of a prince kissing a sleeping beauty back to life. It has started to snow again, thick white flakes tumbling out of the sky, melting on his white face, his pale lips.

Melting.

He freezes. A tiny movement, a flicker on the face that is everything. Brown eyes open, unseeing, lips part, a cloud of breath.

He’s alive.

Theon gasps, throwing himself over his king in a desperate attempt to share warmth, a spark igniting life. And then, then he starts to scream for help, for whoever may hear him. Sansa. The few remaining men. Anyone.  

“He’s alive!!!”

**Author's Note:**

> I would loooove to hear your thoughts on this! *not-so-subtle-comment-begging*  
> And I'm always happy if you want to just say hello or chat with me on tumblr (owlsinathens) :D


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